


In All This, Love

by waywardmelody



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Falling In Love, Love, M/M, Types of love, gifts for friends, possibly a one shot, you should tell people you love them, yusake point of view
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardmelody/pseuds/waywardmelody
Summary: Yusuke was quite enamored with the idea of love. Art had depicted it in its many forms throughout time, both in crystal clarity and through the nebulous influence of modernity. The ancient Greeks had divided the idea of love into multiple stages. Being a connoisseur of all things artistic, he had been able to track that influence through color and sculpture....or how Yusuke Kitagawa notices his friends are falling in love right under his nose.





	In All This, Love

**Author's Note:**

> For my tumblr buddy, phalafelapproves. I hope you enjoy, hun!
> 
> This is my first foray into Akiryu/Pegoryu or even Persona, in general. 
> 
> I thrive on comments and kudos, so please leave me some if you’re feeling kind.
> 
> If people like this, I might add more from Akira and Ryuji’s point of view.
> 
> Come talk to me about how Ryuj Sakamoto is not a vulgar boy, but a soft boy, who needs love and affection @ ofthekingsglaive
> 
> Unbeta'd, so probably a mess. Please forgive me.

Yusuke was quite enamored with the idea of love. Art had depicted it in its many forms throughout time, both in crystal clarity and through the nebulous influence of modernity. The ancient Greeks had divided the idea of love into multiple stages. Being a connoisseur of all things artistic, he had been able to track that influence through color and sculpture. He found it in the tunefulness of classical music, or in the artful design of a landscape with each layer he unraveled emulating one form or another. Each held some secret, some immutable virtue or beauty which could be observed but not always replicated when he picked up his brushes. Certain aspects he could only copy the sentiment of, and though he found his talent was bolstered by a greater understanding of people, what he created often tended to be a facsimile of the real thing. Some forms he could barely even understand. Unless he had a child of his own he might never know Storge, or the love of the child, it could only experienced through viewing something like the Sayuri, the manifestation of his mother’s love for him. Philautia, or the love of the self, needed to be felt, rather than seen, as it was personal and private and he didn’t waste much time thinking about himself. But there were other instances, other expressions which Yusuke could observe, or know, or reflect upon with ease.

There was Eros, the love of the human form. Though he appreciated the shapeliness of a thigh, he’d never experienced the upper echelon of this. He’d never known lust or desire, at least not in the way the ancient Greeks described it. As a student of human nature, however, it was easiest to see this type love in others. Lust was a sidelong glance held for just a moment too long. It was a flush to the cheeks after an extended flirtation. It was bated breath when the object of your affection stood too close, their hand unconsciously meeting yours for a single, blissful moment. It was the basest type of love. He’d seen it too often to count, and because of this he didn’t think he was missing much. Though if Rubens and _The Honeysuckle Bower_ were to be believed, such love made everything lush and green and lively. Seeing as he had a certain affinity for plants, he wondered if perhaps it wasn’t altogether bad.

There was also Philia, a sincere and platonic love. The mythology of this being one of brothers in arms, a love founded on ideals of camaraderie and fidelity. This was a love that Yusuke could recognize. He felt it in his dealings with Ann, who smiled at him easily. He felt it with Morgana and his gentle chiding. He felt it with Ryuji who never left him out of a conversation. He felt it with Akira who was tireless in his support of his art and in the effort he took to gradually pull Yusuke from isolation. He encouraged him to interact with a world not strictly related to paint or canvas, a worthwhile, if also sometimes perplexing endeavor. He recognized Philia easily, for he felt it deep within himself, though the connection was new as sunrise and just as fragile. It was reciprocated through earnestness and respect. The Phantom Thieves were his family, and he loved them. He would never say so aloud; declarations of love were terribly gauche, after all.

There was Ludus, as well, a playful love. If lengthy summer days could transmute into love, Yusuke was sure it would look and feel like Ludus. This was laughter and unhurried smiles stacked one upon another. It was an endless repeat of childlike enjoyment in which responsibilities were tossed aside in favor of another second or two in the shallow end of a swimming pool. This was lemonade, and miles of tanned, bronzed skin. Yusuke had never considered himself playful, nor did he like the outdoors, so he figured his concept of Ludus was merely theoretical. He’d seen it, however, and seen the happiness that tended to follow in its wake. In seeing it, he decided it was a good thing. He dipped his brush in strawberry hues and saturated the canvas with it, trying to depict its pleasures.  When by chance Futaba happened upon his painting, she swatted his back. What was a certain amount of chagrin at being watched and judged by a slip of a girl dissipated when she quirked a brow and spoke low for only him to hear.

“Not bad, Inari.”

Yusuke smiled, realizing he knew a little more of Ludus than he might have guessed.

He considered the last sort of love as one all the Phantom Thieves had experience with. It was Agape, or something like it. This was what the Greeks referred to as a selfless love. Each trip to Mementos solidified a purpose wherein they were trying to shape the hearts of those who had somehow lost empathy for their fellow man, who had misplaced the part of themselves which allowed them to consider kindness and the dimension of another’s soul. Yusuke drew upon these feelings and their opposites when he painted. Each living stroke was a testament to a selfless sort of love. Art could mirror one’s inner self, but it’s true purpose was to be indelible in the way a human spirit could never be. It lived on when people were dead and buried. It was a solid reminder of the transient nature of time, which was why it was so very important. Upon learning about each type of love, whether he had experienced it or not, he dedicated himself to its faithful representation in his work. He reasoned it could take a lifetime to know them, or at least many years to become well versed enough in each to authentically portray its complexities. It was with great surprise that he noticed the vestiges of many of these types of love while looking at his team mates, while looking at Akira and Ryuji specifically.

They entered Okumura’s palace so sure of mission. It was strange to find that this cognitive distortion manifested itself as a spaceport, but in his job as a Phantom Thief Yusuke has found that very little was truly surprising anymore. Everyone had their oddities, and Yusuke knew better than to try to figure them out. The reasons why a person chose their palace to manifest in a certain way became clear in its own time, usually around the time the calling card was sent. What did surprise Yusuke was the change in their enemies. They were leaner and stronger here than those they’d met previously. They reflected their physical attacks and were immune to many of the powers of their personas. Yusuke had found himself knocked flat more than once. This, in and of itself was enough to worry about, but upon meeting Girimehkala, the depth of worry ascended to a dread. Joker fell, not stunned and not dazed but downed entirely. He was insipidly pale, unmoving, leaving the team to dangle without tether.

They’d ambushed the shadow, Joker springing from behind a pillar, descending unto it’s shoulders and plummeting them into battle. It had happened a hundred times, perhaps a thousand times before and they took up their stances with practiced ease. Panther was at his far left, her whip at her side as her wrists flexed and bent, awaiting an opening. Joker was at his right, his parrying knives already raised. His eyes held a brightness and a purpose that Yusuke never saw outside of these cognitive places. He was without fear here, imbued with something like excitement. When he called out “you’re mine” it was with such surety that Yusuke believed him. He was positive the shadow would fail, and if the enemy remained ignorant, they’d soon come to know the truth. This was usually followed by them begging to create a connection with their leader or offering money or items to assuage what were relentless strikes. Sometimes Joker took pity on the monsters, or capitalized on what they offered, but other times he was quick and brutally efficient. He dispatched them with indiscriminate calm. Though he did not always deliver the killing blow, the choice to do so was always his. No one questioned, no one would dare, not even Morgana who was more apt than any other member of the group to press in his two cents. Something about Akira in this was as absolute as breathing and just as necessary. To his right stood Skull, next to Joker, always next to Joker, feeding off his energy. They were twin powers of effortless, careless violence. Following any shows of strength, Joker was quick with an acerbity of wit which was frankly impressive. Ann smirked, bolstered by his confidence and the self-assurance of winning. Even Yusuke felt a certain amount of smugness at each success but Ryuji never accepted the win for what it was. He twisted and twitched, needing another act, another show of power and vehemence to feel comfortable. Akira tried to give him one. He would stare at him, enigmatic eyes searching him out from beneath the mask.

“Come on,” Joker would say, and they’d all fall into step. It didn’t matter if it was a palace, Mementos or Shibuya station; they all followed. But it was Ryuji he beckoned forward, Ryuji who was first to follow, Ryuji who fell into step with Akira’s back at Ryuji’s front. As a student of human nature, and a person who could see art in the subtle movement of paper floating midair, it was somewhat disconcerting for Yusuke to realize he’d missed some very solid clues into both of his teammates behaviors. He hadn’t had the foresight to put two and two together until after it was nearly too late. There was love there, a very deep and very abiding love, curling the edges of both Akira and Ryuji, flayed alive, for anyone who was paying attention to see.

Girimehkala surprised them all. It hit hard enough, which was common for this ungodly place, but it called down an unknown power which hit Joker squarely in the chest. This was not the surprise, each of them had been hit directly before, but when the magic descended Joker simply stopped moving. His eyes went large, pupils blown wide in pain, his body jerking as if hit by invisible blows. He fell, limp as a ragdoll, his body crumbling to the floor in an inelegant heap. He did not cry out. He did not move. The stillness was both unnerving and terrifying.

Ann yelled. Yusuke could hear his own voice raised in alarm but it was Ryuji’s voice which parted the din. It was a sound of pure panic lanced with something even more feral. It was more than a cry, really, an auditory overload which suggested more than fear but anguish, and it stilled Yusake into inactivity. He watched the blonde boy slide to his knees, shielding their leader with his own body. It was strangely private and strangely beautiful and Yusuke could not keep himself from watching. He could see his lips moving but over the roar of battle and the loudness of his own heartbeat, he could not hear his words. Ann flicked her whip at the enemy, sound of the coil and snap of it alongside a spare moment she took to smack him in the shoulder, providing the jolt he needed to pull his focus back to the problem at hand.

He gained his bearings, slicing through the air and going for the shadows single eye, hoping to blind it, but  like many of the shadows here, it cleverly deflected his attack. Morgana called upon Zorro, following his attack with wind. It did only minor damage but with the three of them dedicated, they managed to take it down eventually. It felt like hours and a cool dread settled over Yusake’s bones when he turned his eyes back to Joker only to find that neither he nor Skull had moved.

“Joker!? H-hey... Answer me!" Morgana crawled around their fallen leader, prodding what pieces of him Ryuji had not covered entirely. Even his stubbornness provoked no reaction.

“Mudoon,” Morgana continued. “It’s a spell, I think. We need to get him to safe space. Fast.” No one moved for a second but the cat was sharp when he spoke again, talking directly to Ryuji, in a tone softer than Yusuke had ever heard them speak. “He’s still breathing but his defense is low right now, we have to get moving. “

Ann coiled her whip, Yusuke sheathed his sword but still Ryuji was a fixed, immovable point. “Skull, now! Do you want him to die?”

Everything was a blur afterwards. Red rimmed eyes fixated on Morgana and if Yusuke had ever doubted the label of delinquency which seemed to dog every one of  Ryuji’s steps, he’d never make the mistake again. He blazed with a quiet ferocity where he said nothing, lifting Joker easily, settling his weight against his chest. It was strangely intimate, but none of them commented, even Morgana going uncharacteristically quiet, only speaking when necessity dictated he do so, only gesturing as it pertained to navigation.

“We’re out of Takemedic,” Ann said, her voice a dry lament. They moved down the metal corridors, starting and stopping, hiding. “We used the last of it in the fight by the Control Room.”

“Odd Morsel? Life Stone? Recover-R, anything?” Morgana questioned but didn’t stop as he continued, leading them back from the intersection and heading north towards the elevator. They avoided shadows, but only narrowly, sliding into vents and hugging the walls to keep from being seen. They ducked behind passages, gradually coming to the safe room where they could make plans.

“By the roundabout,” Ryuji said, finally. His voice sounded eerie and entirely unlike himself, a brushed nothingness that was as dull as nickel. “At the end of the hallway. There was a chest. But we don’t have the keycard.”

The thieves made their decisions when behind the safety of the safe room door. No one mentioned that Ryuji would stay with their leader, it was an unspoken necessity, but it was soon decided that Yusuke would stay behind in the safe room as well, guarding the door for what possible threats there might on the outside. Haru would wait outside the door as additional support. Futaba proclaimed she remembered the way to the roundabout, offering support and guidance while Ann, Makoto and Morgana resolved to retrieve the chest, and whatever else they could procure along the way.

Once Joker is behind solid doors; the plan is set. They lay him prone upon the table, the others dispersing, leaving only Ryuji and himself to see the antithesis of movement in their leader.

Watching Ryuji stand, head bowed, was the sort of inaction that Yusuke couldn’t tolerate. For lack of anything else to be done, he considered what he knew. Strangely, perhaps oddly in relation to what happened, his thoughts strayed back to what he knew of love. It became clear in an instant that he’d been given the perspective to watch to Ryuji falling for Akira over the past few months, quite without his noticing. The lustful love, Eros, was there. His blonde friend was always looking a little too long at Akira. He was too quick to touch their leader, an arm slung lazily over his shoulder or a quick ruffle of his hair. Philia, the bond of brotherhood was stronger between the pair than it was with any of the other Phantom Thieves. Yusuke guessed the thread of their bond might have coursed deeper, whether because of a shared history of violence or simply because they complimented each other so well, but he had not known. There was no doubt left now, not that there ever had been an abundance before, not with way which Ryuji hovered over Akira, the space between them minimal. The playfulness of love was well documented to Yusuke’s mind as well, the way they so easily teased one another, in Akira’s choice to respond to Ryuji first in group interactions, with a quip or a joke. Agape was implied. No one wanted to change hearts more quickly or fiercely than did Ryuji. Only Akira’s steel resolve kept him in check, kept him from running deep into trouble head first and without preparation. He wanted so badly to make the world a better place. They were well suited, Yusuke thought, an even balance. As he stared in turns at Ryuji and Akira, he felt acutely that if Akira didn’t wake a small death might come to Ryuji, as well.

“If he wakes, you should tell him,” Yusuke intoned, looking past Ryuji to the still and prostrate form of their leader.

“ _When_ he wakes up, and I dunno what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

The blonde spared him only a bare glance before resuming his vigil. He was otherwise occupied and Yusuke was glad, finding it somewhat easier to speak when not under the umbrella of intense scrutiny.

“That you’re in love with him.”

He knew he was correct, that he hadn’t misread the situation. All his study on art and human nature was fully realized when the lines of Ryuji’s back tensed and contracted, hiss posture fixed into a line, followed by a quietness which was in opposition to everything Ryuji stood for.

Yusuke dared to come closer, stepping aside to stand next to him. Sharing the quiet, he offered a sidelong glance, watching emotions flicker and play across the other man’s face.

“That aint…” he started

But just like that, the spell receded. Smoke grey eyes opened, delicate lashes fluttering to show what had appeared to be lifeless was in fact very much alive, alive and seeking validation in the dark brown eyes of Ryuji, not his own.

“Ryuji…”

There were no questions, at least not to his mind, that whatever feelings Ryuji harbored for their leader were reciprocated. There was such genuineness in the way he regarded him, a look shared for two upon which he was intruding.

“..are you okay,” Akira continued.

“Am I okay?! Dude, you almost died!”

Yusuke had to chuckle. The sentiment of worrying for others being so uniquely Akira whilst the solid, loud condemnation was so exclusively Ryuji; he felt a critical sense of normalcy had returned.

“I have to agree, Joker” he said. “The others are off in search of curatives. I’ll go outside and let Haru know you’ve woken. Everyone was very worried about you.”

Joker shifted, it becoming apparent that the shift alluded to his intent to stand. Before he could caution against it Ryuji’s hand was at his chest, gently pressing him back towards the table.

“You should tell him,” Yusuke reminded, turning on his heel towards the exit without another word for Joker. He didn't miss the following beat of silence or Akira’s question about what he needed to be told. He did, however, almost miss Ryuj’s response.

“Nothing, man. Just that Fox is stupid. Morgana’s stupid. Man, everybody’s fucking stupid. You’re the most stupid. The stupidest.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Yusuke slipped past the threshold of the door, ready to let a worrying Haru know that her father’s cognitive distortion hadn’t managed to kill their fearless leader, after all. He laughed low and to himself. Between Ryuj and Akira, he thought, the Greek’s would have a field day.


End file.
